Look Sharp
by Sth10
Summary: Sometimes as a cop, you have to leave your feelings and emotions at home. But when it comes to having a partner, it's your heart that dictates how well the two of you work together. 2-parter.
1. Chapter 1

_Officer Ben Sherman is still trying to understand what it is about the Los Angeles Police Department that draws him into this life. And why, even after everything that he's seen since he first put on that badge, he still can't walk away from it._

X X X

You're twenty-two years old and you're scared and you're wondering why the hell you ever wanted to do this goddam job in the first place. Why the hell you ever thought you'd be capable of doing this job.

You left home today prepared to face the lowest rung of Los Angeles society. You were ready to deal with the mean streets so unfamiliar to you. You were not, however, prepared for this six foot three wall of solid muscle who is now yelling at you to get your head outta your ass and glue yourself to his. You nearly fall over your own feet in your hurry to follow him.

John Cooper is a cop's cop, you see that immediately. Everyone greets him, cracks a joke with him. He's well-liked within the division. And respected. Everyone looks up to him as the best cop they know. Cooper is golden as far as his colleagues are concerned and right now you don't believe you'll ever feel as capable as him.

Your first day is a blur and your heart never stops pounding in your chest as you try to absorb everything that's going on around you and everything John Cooper is telling you. In fact, the only moment you feel calm is when you gently squeeze your trigger and watch Dewey's attacker fall. The only moment when the sense of panic that has been fluttering all day leaves you.

You draw in a breath, watch the chaos exploding around you without really noticing it. And when Cooper sits you on the steps, it still feels like you're not really there.

Cooper towers over you, his blue eyes alight with adrenaline. "This is warn-a-brother."

The idea that he could consider you highly enough to regard as a brother-in-arms stirs you. You look up at him, meet that intense stare. And it feels like he can see into your soul; that he knows everything there is to know about you. And you allow him because you already trust him and it calms you to know that, somehow, John Cooper gets you.

You want to tell him you have no idea what you're doing. That nothing the academy had taught you means anything now it's for real. Want to yell at him that surely he'd been this scared and uncertain and completely overwhelmed once. But you can't, because you have a feeling this brick wall of muscle, whose entire demeanour screams control and capability, has never been scared of anything. And that knowledge makes you pull yourself together.

X X X

He's talking at you again. You have no idea what he's on about but he's got the 'lesson' look on his face and that usually means you're about to be told how not to fuck up something. Dewey is listening with that wise-ass grin on his face and you fight the urge to knock him out.

Dewey, you've already learnt, is fucking crazy. Cooper may be a cocky bastard but at least he isn't a loudmouth. He doesn't need to be; he has enough of a presence without needing to shoot his mouth off. He's in control of every situation and he knows it. You've already seen when he puts in a tackle on a runner, there's no one who can outmuscle him and he hits like he was born in the NFL.

"You hearin' what I'm saying, Boot?" he asks.

You nod quickly and hope he hasn't noticed you didn't actually understand any of it. His eyes tell you he isn't fooled for a minute but he'll let you get away with it this time. The laughter lines betray the fact he has kind eyes, although you know he can make them hard as ice when he wants to. It already feels like you've spent half a lifetime looking into his eyes, because when he thinks you need to pay attention, he won't let you look away from him. The intensity that burns in the deep blue keeps your gaze glued to his.

"Listen up," he tells you. And starts on the next lesson.

X X X

At first you are intimidated by John Cooper but you gradually come to realise that he was in fact a good-humoured guy at heart. A hard-ass, no doubt, but not a bad guy. You have learnt not to be daunted by the persona he exudes in the uniform, come to admire his enviable ability to go from chilled out to totally intense the second an idiot got in his line of view.

He's got issues but so do you. Maybe that's why you click; you're very different people but he's been through similar things to you. He gets it. And he's prepared to listen, something you hadn't expected from this tough-talking vet.

The two of you talk a lot. There's not much else to do when you're chasing the radio. You've grown comfortable riding together, come to know each other's traits.

You know he won't touch anything with avocado. He knows you hate bananas. Soon as he found that out, he left a peeled banana on the seat of your bike every day for a week. Bought you banana milkshakes in coffee cups to see if you were dumb enough to take a sip. Even found banana-flavour chewing gum to offer whenever your guard was down.

When the time comes to go solo in the U-Boat, you're scared at the prospect of being without the partner you have come to rely on but you try to hide it behind a smile. He knows though, you can tell by the reassuring way his eyes lock onto yours as he tells you to watch the hands.

"Okay, Dad," you say, trying to play it down.

His words calm you and later, when it's all fallen apart and you feel like nothing in the world could get through to you, his presence comforts you as you sit together watching the firemen rescue the sneakers.

You get what you see with Cooper. He's rough and he's hard on fools and there's no beating around the bush with him. He doesn't hide what he is, a tough guy with a zero tolerance for idiocy. But he's got a good heart and that night on that cold sidewalk, you finally understand that.

X X X

He asks you what you want to talk about. Not in the confessional way for once. Like he's genuinely interested in what conversation you may have. You smile.

You're desperate for his approval. For a smile or a nod or a word of praise. He's hard on you; that's the kind of cop he is. But occasionally, he lets the front slip, allows you to see that at heart, he's a good guy who wants you to be the best cop you can be. You quietly value for those moments.

"You been studying your map book?" he asks sardonically.

"I have actually," you shoot back with a grin.

You think you see pride in his smile but it's hidden before you can check. He's not about to let you get overconfident. You let it go but it gives you a boost that keeps you hyped up all watch.

The way he talks to you after he hears about the parole of your mom's assailant means a lot to you, even though you can't acknowledge it. He gets it. These emotions that rush through your blood, that cloud your brain until the anger finally breaks lose. He's been there. He understands your frustration and he doesn't judge you for it.

But he's not about to let you get away with losing control. He knows control is the most important weapon a cop has and even though he empathises with you, he is still your TO and he will make you learn a lesson from this whether you like it or not. John Cooper is a brawler and he's not ashamed of the fact, not like you who has always felt you have to hide the aggression that is within you.

You can still feel the rage in your veins and you want to punch something until your knuckles cave in. But Cooper stays by you and his presence calms you, as if it so often does. So you let it go. You swallow it down and pretend it isn't there.

X X X

You come to hate seeing him in pain, being forced to watch how it affects him. During the shootout, you verbally battle with him to let you be the one to grab Sergeant Johnson. You know why he won't let you: he refuses to put you in danger. Won't considering letting you step into the line of fire when he can do it himself. Yes, he may be bigger and stronger than you, but you know that's not his reason. Cooper would rather he took the bullets than you.

And you have to see him suffer for his own bravery afterwards. It makes you angry to watch this proud man struggling to walk. Cooper doesn't deserve this shit. Yes, he's bull-headed and almost impossible to get through to, but you admire him and you don't want this to beat him.

But you're scared it will. He tries to hide the pain from you; changes the subject whenever you try to ask about it. You still talk together and the conversation flows easily but he won't let you into that dark part of him. That's too deep yet.

He's battling his demons physically as sure as you are mentally. You want to help him. You try to help him. Because he's your partner and for many months now, he has been your teacher and your protector. And goddamn, it hurts to see him like this. But he won't let you. He's fighting every step of the way, against the pain and against the reality of his situation. And he's so busy fighting that he doesn't realise you're there for him.

X X X

"Little Boot's growing up," he declares. He calls you Ben now; Boot has become a nickname he uses when he's ragging on you.

He still gets pissed off with you when you screw up, even more so now, because you understand now he sees you as a cop in your own right and it angers him if you screw up this capability status he has given you. John Cooper is a good judge of character and nothing riles him more than being wrong. He will not give you the chance to make him wrong.

It stirs you when he yells at you, because you're desperate to prove yourself. But he always gives you the chance at redemption; never dwells on your screw ups once he's made sure you understand what went wrong. Never holds grudges against a misdemeanour. Is always willing to give you your head again, even if it's just for amusement to see how bad you can fuck it up. Particularly when it comes to giving bad news to the wrong mother. Or neglecting to keep hold of your suspect.

The first time you square up to him, pissed off about his riding your ass for not securing a PCP shithead, you expect him to go crazy at you. But he doesn't; his eyes are gentle as he tells you a few home truths. He's forceful but even you can see he's fair. He knows it's not long now before you'll be out there on your own and he doesn't want to see you or anyone else get hurt because you haven't got your shit together. He makes his point. You walk away in a reflective mood. Spend the rest of the evening thinking it all through.

X X X

You gotta hand it to him though; he's not afraid of giant snakes and he will risk a bite to rescue a pet dog. Leaves you to deal with the snake afterwards of course, but at least he made the first move. You still think the taser was a better option. But he's a dog lover; you've always been more of a cat person.

You're uneasy with the way he handles the guy driving under the influence of prescription drugs. You know he's treating the guy rough to deny his own demons, to deny what he himself is doing. It doesn't sit well with you; Cooper is many things but he is not a hypocrite and you worry that he is getting in too deep for him to handle.

But you can't help but feel bad when he confronts you in the locker room over the correct count of evidence pills. You made the wrong call and damn you feel bad for it. You wish you could tell him sorry, take it back. But you can't. So you just leave.

X X X

You tell him he's not alone, try to get through his thick skull that you want to be a good partner, you want to get him through this. He's having none of it, just as you expected. And the anger is starting to build within you, because you know you are both at risk now. And because you know John Cooper is losing himself for no good reason.

You turn away then, before you lose your temper. You've said what you wanted to and it made no difference. The frustration burns and you want to yell at him, make him understand that the cop you admired so much is gone, broken. The fact that he won't let you in makes it worse because now, as well as angry, you feel helpless. And this isn't the way it's supposed to be; this isn't how it should end.

On that last day, the day it finally falls apart and everything between you is lost, the day that had started off so well with jokes in roll call and talc in the air conditioning, you hate how it ended. Cooper was an asshole to you all morning, just like he had been on your first ever-watch. Reminding you not to get ideas above your station. You didn't mind that. It's the silence that gets you.

And when it all comes to a head, when you slam him up against the dumpster and you can't stop the words firing out of your mouth, you know it's all over. Your rage at having to take a beating alone, without any back-up, is so strong it almost overwhelms you. He's betrayed your trust in him and God it hurts, hurts more than the cuts and bruises.

You say it's about protecting the next boot he is charged with, but it's not. It's about protecting him. Partners save each other's lives and you know that what you're doing now, no matter how bad the moment is, will ultimately keep Cooper from dying. Even with the anger coursing through you, you still have to save him.

There's no talk during the drive to the hospital but you're working up the courage and when you pull to a stop, you ask him if he wants to you to go in with him. Because you still want him to know he's not alone. You're not surprised when he's says no but when he hands you his spare keys, you're assured you've done the right thing.

And even though you're still mad at him for falling so hard from grace, you respect the fact he has the strength of character to face up to this alone. And you can't help but feel your anger calm when he quietly thanks you; his dignity reassures you that John Cooper is not lost forever.

The only response you can give is to nod, let him know you appreciate his thanks. There's nothing else you can say. And you watch him make that slow, painful walk inside. Blow out a long breath. And silently hope that it will be all right.

X X X

On the first day you ride with Sammy Bryant, you can't keep the ironic smile from your face. It's just like Cooper again and it makes you feel safe, the yelling and cursing and the constant rebuttals that come flying at you. The fact this shit is reassuring to you makes you laugh.

Your first few weeks with Sammy, you're constantly on edge. Bryant is wired wrong and you feel he's about to explode at any moment. In short, he's fucking crazy. You miss Cooper's reassuring bulk beside you; you like Sammy as a guy but you fear he will lead you down a dangerous path. Either that or he will get you so hyped up you'll take yourself down it.

Gradually, the two of you settle down together. Become good friends. It feels good to ride with someone you don't have to worry about. Your first months together are a blast. You and Sammy click and even though he does nothing to calm you down, every watch with him is an adrenaline rush.

Then you rush in and screw it all up. That damn crack pipe breaks the partnership and the friendship that meant so much to you. You've done it again. You fucked it up with Cooper. Now you've fucked it up with Sammy. You wonder what the hell's wrong with you.

So you turn to the one person in the division who understands why you're like you are. And it's awkward 'cos you haven't talked in a long time but Cooper doesn't give you any shit, just takes you for a beer, buys you a burger as you sit together at the bar 'cos he knows you're always hungry after you finish the shift. Let's you talk. And you're twenty-four years old and you're a cop in your own right now, but you feel like that young kid once again.

"We might live in the grey, Ben," Cooper says quietly after you've vented every unsettled feeling within you, "but you still see things in black and white. You gotta realise that not everything's clean-cut."

"You saying I shouldn't have said anything?" you ask, surprised because Cooper is as straightforward as they come and you can't imagine him letting something like this slide.

"I'm saying you shoulda waited to check it out first. Being a cop's about finding the evidence, not jumping to conclusions."

"And I still got that to learn, right?" You hear the defensiveness in your voice but Cooper doesn't react to it.

"You're the one who accused your partner of being dirty," he says calmly.

You look down at your beer. "I didn't think. I just wanted to get to the bottom of it."

"There's better ways to do it than your method. You still go rushing in; you let your heart get in the way of your head." Cooper slugs from his own bottle. "Every cop starts out like that. It's no big deal when you're young and you're full of ideals. But eventually you realise you gotta slow down and think before you act."

You can feel his piercing gaze on you and you force yourself to make eye contact with him. His blue eyes are not judgemental; in fact you think they are understanding. You can imagine back in the day, John Cooper was like a raging bull when he thought something had compromised his belief system.

"I don't know what to do," you say.

"Sammy won't talk to you?"

"He won't even look at me."

"He's got a right to be pissed off, y'know."

"Can he be pissed off at me forever?"

Cooper raises a finger to the barman and two shots appear before you. "Sammy's gone through a lot since Nate Moretta died. You gotta remember that."

You pick up your shot between your thumb and forefinger. "I think he compares me to Nate."

"'Course he does. But that doesn't mean you measure up badly. Nate was a good cop, Ben, and you're very different to him, but that doesn't mean you're not a good cop in your own right. Sammy understands that."

He holds his glass up and you touch it with yours. You grimace as the spirit burns down your throat but he doesn't react. He could always handle his alcohol better than you.

"I heard about you smacking that chick," he says.

You glance awkwardly at him, waiting for him to continue.

"You don't hit women, Ben. You and me know that better than most. It just can't happen."

"I know," you say quietly. "It's never happened before."

"You need to learn how to get a hold on yourself so it never happens again."

That riles you and you want to tell him he's got no right to tell you what to do anymore. But you don't, because deep down you still crave his approval. Because you still want to be the sort of cop John Cooper is. You know your actions will dictate the kind of cop you become. That scares you.

You feel like you're losing control. You still haven't learnt where the line is. You spend hours in the gym, pumping iron, trying to rid your system of this bubbling rage. But it never quite goes away. It's always there, under the surface. Sammy thinks you're messing with steroids but your quick temper and beefed-up biceps are nothing to do with juice.

This is part of you, and you hate it.

You still have a photo taken by Chickie when you were all at yet another retirement party together. You and Cooper, relaxed and waving beer bottles at the camera. Your forearms rest casually on each other's shoulders. Neither of you are smiling but both pairs of blue eyes are alight with laughter as the two of you allow Chickie to capture the moment of kinship. And when you wonder why the hell you carry on doing this goddam job day after day, you take out that photo and remember those words John Cooper said to you on your very first day. And it reminds you exactly why you are a cop.

Because you don't know how not to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

_Officer John Cooper knows the role he is supposed to play when he puts on his uniform. But sometimes things get under a cop's skin and no matter how much they try, they can't always ignore them._

X X X

When you first set eyes on him, with his expensive haircut, in his shiny new uniform buttoned to the neck, you see Beverly Hills written all over a clean-cut young face that doesn't quite manage to hide the anxiety. The long sleeves will have him sweating in minutes; department-issue polyester is a bitch in the heat. He doesn't look like he's graduated high school yet and he's scared; the worry is clear in the bright blue eyes.

He's not big but you can see his body is gym-honed, trying to give himself some beef. He carries it well, looks solid in the uniform even though he doesn't have your natural size. You note the strut he's trying to put into his walk and hide a smile.

When you later discover he's got a background in karate, you're not surprised. He has that compact power all martial artists have. And he uses it well. You will quickly find out it doesn't matter that he can't boast your stature; he can hold his own physically and he doesn't fear doing so.

"I'm John Cooper," you announce and watch him almost falling over his own feet to follow you as you stride out the door, pump-action in hand.

The kid calls you 'sir' in every reply for the first day, even though you haven't demanded he do so. You're not big on formality. Finally he relaxes enough to mostly abandon the 'sirs' and you take the opportunity to introduce him to his new name. A frown creases his brow as he learns he'll be known as Boot from now on, but he shrugs and looks away as you give him your legendary hard stare. You get the feeling he isn't used to being ragged on. He'd better learn fast if he's gonna ride with you.

X X X

When you sit him down on those steps, his eyes never leave yours and he's looking at you like he thinks you will make everything in his world all right again. You see trust glimmering behind the fear; he already understands that you will keep him safe in this terrifying game he has just entered into. And you think you see a spark of hope. Like he desperately wants to believe every word you say. As if you can save him.

You feel him latch on to your own intensity. Your adrenaline is pumping and at that moment you couldn't possibly love your job more. You want him to feel that and from the way he stares at you, not even realising his mouth is hanging open, you think he does.

And when you call him a pussy, trying to knock him out of the shock he's falling into, you see his jaw harden and his body tense. He eyeballs you, tries to give you a hard stare. He cares what you think of him. He wants to prove himself.

You back off then. The kid's been through enough for one night.

At the end of that first day, you're not convinced you'll see him again tomorrow. At the end of the second day, you take him for a beer and tell him he doesn't need to call you 'sir'. By the end of the third day, you decide you like the kid. Not that you'll admit that.

X X X

Like it or not, this pretty boy is now your responsibility. Your stripes and star are not just there to look nice and start conversations at parties. You can't help but like the kid for having the balls to turn his back on everything he'd ever known for a blue-collar job.

He's got good instincts; he's green as hell but he learns fast and you find you don't have to tell him things twice. He's also a speed demon, runs like a damn greyhound and isn't afraid to put in a hard hit on a fleeing gangbanger. When he's in full flight, he's at his most confident, because he knows he can outrun almost anyone and you see glimpses of the cop he will become.

For the first week, he takes every jibe you throw at him to heart. Especially the ones about his hair. After that he relaxes and lets them just flow over him, even tries to toss a few back at you after he's taken ten minutes thinking about it. Mostly just gives that wide smile that makes him look like a Labrador puppy wagging its tail.

The way he grins in embarrassment and blushes when attractive female suspects flirt with him amuses you. He's a good kid and he's trying to be a good cop. You know he'll get there. He's got what it takes. It's just too early to let him know that yet.

He's a hard one to figure out though. Has built up a protective wall around him and he guards it fiercely, not willing to reveal too much of himself. For a tough guy, you're pretty open and you like to chat as you ride around waiting for some action. You gotta bring the kid out of himself before you go crazy from lack of diversion.

You quickly discover the way to do this is to needle him, rag on him until his frustration explodes and he blurts out whatever it is he's keeping hidden. At times you feel guilty for having done so when you learn more of his past. Who'd have thought life in Beverly Hills could be as rough as that. Kid's been through a lot. It's fucked him up pretty good and he's still trying to deal with it.

X X X

You're forty-one years old and you've been in this job for twenty years. You've seen it all. Trained rookies a lot stupider and a lot less competent than this kid. The words you wrote in his day book were true; you have high expectations that Ben Sherman will be a hell of a cop.

He's opened up a lot in these months, relaxed his guard and allowed some of his personality into the uniform and into the cruiser. But he is naturally quiet, self-contained and prone to long periods of reflective silence. Presumably the result of his childhood. He's learnt it was better not to be seen or heard. Not like you who fought like a pitbull against everything you considered unfair. He's smarter than you like that.

A lot of the time when he spills it, lets you in on his darkest thoughts, you end up throwing a wisecrack just to lighten the situation. Because you know when it's getting too deep for you both to be able to do the job properly and you know how dangerous that can be. He usually shoots back at you, telling you this is why he doesn't want to tell you stuff, but the next time you ask him what's going on in his head, you know he'll answer you eventually.

When he admits he's been studying his map book, you can't help but smile. Glance out of the window quickly so the kid doesn't see you're proud of him. He's turning out well. You enjoy the amusement of cruising casually along in the squad car while he sprints after a runaway suspect in cuffs. Enjoy it even more when the dumbass falls flat on his face at the sound of your sardonic yell. Sherman doesn't seem to find it quite as fun as you but no matter.

Gradually, he learns to jibe back at you, enjoy the moments of free-flowing insults and wisecracks volleying between you. Teases you about going Eminem-style on him when you reminisce about fighting for your mere existence at your first high school. You laugh more easily than you have done in weeks at that moment; take the chance at carefree banter with this hotshot who has just proved himself so strongly to you. Then MR PCP Psycho decides to fly out of the ambulance to take a ride on your hood. You're pissed off at him for interrupting the fun.

This partnership is beginning to feel right.

X X X

As the pain starts to tighten its relentless grip on you, you want to trust Sherman. Because he's becoming less like your rookie and more like your partner. But you can't. Not yet. You have too much to lose.

Laurie is still the only person you really trust, the one you turn to when it gets really bad. And you know that you're hurting her every time you show up at her door. And you also know she loves you enough not to turn you away.

She still wants you to father her child. Because she knows you're a good man, a man of morals and steadfast beliefs in right and wrong, despite what issues you're going through. But you can't. You don't want another kid growing up with an absent father like you did.

You dwell on the issue for a long time. You had never considered having kids when you were married but you are good with children and you know you would be a better father than yours ever was. But what state are you in to take responsibility for another life? You can hardly take care of yourself. How many nights have you sat in your kitchen, drinking whisky until finally the pain dulls enough for you to snatch a few hours of sleep?

No, you can't give Laurie a child. It would be wrong to bring a kid into this world to a screwed-up father and a mother who is lonely and desperate for love. You know Laurie hates you for your refusal but you cling on to your belief that every child needs a family.

And that's one thing you can't provide.

X X X

It takes a long time before Sherman tries to fight back. When he stands up to you, warns you off hazing him, you consider letting him have both barrels. His face is taut with anger, jaw set, and you know he wants to smack you one for being such a goddamn asshole. For a moment, you're tempted to grab him.

But you understand he needs to know why you're so hard on him. So you hold your temper and you tell him how it is. You don't pull your verbal punches and you see him clench his jaw tight, but he is listening and you see his anger calm as he realises what you are saying.

You know in 90 days he will be on his own out there on those streets; there will not be someone for him to rely on the way he still relies on you. His new partner will not be like you; they will expect him to step up to the plate in a way you do not. In your partnership, you're always in charge. You're always the one who will protect him. Soon he will be in a partnership where the responsibility is equal and you're not about to send him out there unprepared.

And if you have to haul his sorry ass across hot coals ten times a day to make him learn the lessons of being a good cop, you will do so. And you will not regret it. Because if he gets shot to death in 100 days' time, you will live with that destruction for the rest of your life if you do not do everything in your power to educate him against such an event ever occurring.

You've heard about boots you've trained being killed in the line of duty. Not many, but enough. Years and years after you were responsible for them. But you know none of them have hurt you as much as it would if Ben Sherman were to ever lose his life carrying the badge.

So you take the hard line. You give him hell when you need to. You do it for his own good and you hope one day he will realise that.

X X X

Your dad looks smaller than you remember. You're not sure if he's shrunk or if you just weren't as big as you thought you were last time you saw him. Back then, he was a huge, hard-muscled man raging at a fifteen-year-old boy. Now his power has gone but you can barely bring yourself to look at him.

When you speak, you do so from the deepest part of your heart. You keep the emotion out of it but you feel the anger burning and it's all you can do to keep it under control. You mean every word you say. You feel nothing but contempt for this man who sired you. Every beating he ever gave you seem to be sweeping over you once again. It's almost like physical pain spreading throughout your body and you know it has nothing to do with your very real injury. Just being in the same room as him is killing you and the relief you feel when you're finally out of those gates again is almost overwhelming.

When finally it does overwhelm you, on that lonely desert highway, and you allow yourself to cry like you haven't done in countless years, it feels like your soul is about to shatter. Like nothing can ever heal this despair. And as the sobs rack your aching body, you can sense your careful control slipping away from you.

And there's nothing you can do to drag it back.

X X X

When the news goes round that Nate Moretta is close to death in the ER, the cop brotherhood bands together and you all head for the hospital. It has been a tradition forever and no one is willing to break it. You and Sherman have just gone off watch but you explain that when a cop is taken out, he cannot be allowed to depart this world without a guard to watch over him. That's just how it is. Even if you don't know him well, you must join the rest of West Bureau in that hospital waiting room.

You arrive minutes after the news of Nate's death is announced. Tears stream down the face of Sal Salinger as he paces the room like a caged tiger, shaking with rage. Sammy Bryant breaks into agonised sobs, punching the plaster as if it's his partner's murderer.

Everyone else seems frozen, shock and horror rendering their instincts useless. You step forward before Sammy can hurt himself, grabbing him tight and dragging him away from the wall. He's still fighting you even as he collapses into your embrace, letting out a howl filled with such anguish your hair stands on end. Your arms are the only thing keeping him from dropping to the floor as he buries his face in your chest, screaming Nate's name over and over, and your back is about to explode with pain but you hold him tight against you and try to tell him it will be all right, even though you know it will never be all right again.

Sherman moves up behind Sammy, makes eye contact with you as he wraps his arms around Sammy's heaving chest, gently easing his body weight from you. He guides him back to Nate's crying wife, lets him drop into her embrace. You see the emotion blazing in Sherman's eyes, halfway between pain and anger, and you understand why he's shaking because you are feeling exactly the same. And it feels like the right thing to do, to throw your arm around his neck and let the solid weight reassure him that this terrible night will not break him.

He doesn't look at you, afraid you will see he is close to tears, or trying to keep face in front of the other older cops. But you feel the shaking gradually diminish until he steps away from you, holding his head up high.

And when it's finally time to leave the hospital, you walk together to the nearest bar. And you sit side-by-side long into the night, emptying bottle after bottle without even noticing. Considering just how much this job can cost you.

X X X

You call him Boot out of habit now. A nickname, no longer a label. He used to be pleased when you told him to call you John; now he's comfortable enough to call you Coop like everyone else.

He's trying to be his own man now. You enjoy letting him step all over his dick for a while, just to prove to him that he's not as good as he thinks he is. For a whole week you address him as Superboot until he finally accepts that he's not ready to teach the whole of West Bureau who the job's done.

The day you decide to try and save the abused boy you found in the park, Sherman banishes the Superboot tag for good. Proves himself to you once and for all. When he leans over the roof of your car, holds your eye contact and tells you he'd rather get fired for doing the job right than walk away, that he chooses to stay by your side, your pride in him is intense. The young rookie you took on is fading away. This man on the other side of the Challenger is your partner. Of that you now have no doubt.

X X X

And when it all falls apart and you commit the ultimate sin, the guilt you feel is immense. It almost hurts more than the pain that is slowly tearing you apart. You let your partner down. You didn't look out for him.

You broke the promise you had made.

Ben Sherman could have turned you in. He could have destroyed your career. But he didn't. He did what you hadn't done; he protected you. He did what every good partner must at some point do.

He saved your life.

And you're so grateful you can never really explain it to him. Never tell him just how much it meant to you that he cared enough to help you when you thought there was nothing that could make it better.

Without Ben Sherman, you would have died. Not on the street in a hail of bullets. Not a hero's death. But one night in your bathtub, with the empty pill bottle beside you and a bottle of whisky in your lifeless fingers. It was inevitable and you know it. You accept it.

And now it's all over, now you're slowly getting your life back together, you wish you could tell him everything. But you can't. It's too late.

X X X

You worry when you hear he's going to be paired up with Sammy Bryant. You know Sammy and you know the kind of maverick he's become since Nate Moretta's death. He will do nothing to control Sherman's explosive temper; in fact you fear he will set light to the fuse just for the excitement of it. He's a good cop, Sammy, and you like him, but he can be a dangerous guy to be around now he has no semblance of self-control. Sherman is not yet mature or experienced enough to keep himself in check if Sammy is cranking up a situation.

You know he's not your partner anymore; he's no longer your boot. But your instinct is still to keep him safe.

**END**


End file.
